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Chapter Eighty: War Cannot Change All Things
Gendry
He found her in the courtyard, standing beside a blonde knight that could only be Jaime Lannister, waiting for them. She looked so different that it was difficult to imagine that this was the same little girl who had pretended to be a boy to escape King's Landing with him. That was a lifetime ago.
Her eyes were wide, her head turned toward the keep, watching in the direction that Lenora and Robb Stark had just rushed. She was surprised to see her brother alive, but she did not seem nearly as surprised as she should have. She was in shock, he decided.
Tyrion had made his way over to his taller brother. Jaime had knelt, his hands on Tyrion's shoulders, his forehead pressed against Tyrion's as the two bothers talked, low and fast, so much to say, and not enough time to say it.
Gendry's chest tightened. He wanted that, with Lenora. When they finally met he wanted her to be so happy to see him, just as desperate to hear everything that had happened to him in his life. She wouldn't of course. For these two brothers it was a reunion. They knew each other, they loved each other.
She didn't know him. She wouldn't love him. He was a bastard. He had ridden all this way and it wasn't until now that he realized that she might not want to see him. But there was someone here who would want to see him. Someone here who would care for him.
He turned back to Arya, watching her. She was still staring after her brother. Looking half torn between giving him time to reunite with his wife and chasing after him so that they could see each other again.
"Arya," he called out softly, taking a step forward. Her shoulders tensed, she recognized his voice. He took another step forward, "Arya," he said again, smiling when she turned to look at him, her light eyes widening, a spark appearing in them.
A laugh escaped his lips as she moved toward him, he held out his arms to the sides, half expecting her to throw herself into his arms. She had never cared that he was a bastard before, he couldn't imagine her caring now. He was so focused on her face that he didn't see her hand clench into a fist, he didn't see her lift the fist, to pull back. But he felt it as she rushed forward, slamming her fist into his side.
His breath escaped his lips in a rush. He had once made fun of her for having tiny, ineffectual fists. She had once been a little girl. But those days were gone. She was still small, but she was strong now. Someone had taught her how to punch, no doubt someone had taught her how to fight. Perhaps even Jaime Lannister himself.
"Arya!" he gasped out as she punched him again. He dropped his hands, trying to catch her, to hold her away from him so that she couldn't reach him anymore, but she darted away from him, twisting at the last moment to come back and punch him again, this time in the middle of his stomach. She gave him no warning, no time to tense his muscles. He took a step back, away from her. Did she hate him?
She moved closer, muttering angrily to herself as she continued to punch him. "You stupid bastard," she hissed. "You stupid, stubborn, bastard." Her voice was shaking. When he ducked his head he noticed that there were tears in her eyes, threatening to escape and slip down her cheeks. "You stupid, stubborn, fucking bastard! I told you not to trust them. I told you that they would betray you. I told you to stay with me. And you chose them. You chose them over me. And they sold you to that stupid Red bitch! I told you."
Each of her statements were accompanied by a punch. He was prepared now, his stomach tensed, constantly waiting for the next time her fist slammed into his side or stomach. This was not the reunion he had expected, but he should have. Arya had always been a fighter. She had always struggled with her emotions. When they had met she had just seen her father killed, she had been smuggled out of the city, dressed as a boy. She was heartbroken and desperate and Gendry had been there for her.
He had become a constant. On the road, at Harrenhall, when they had first met the Brotherhood. He had always been there. She had come to rely on him. And then he had left her, he had chosen the Brotherhood over her, even though she had told him they would betray him. And when they did, it had not mattered to her because he had already betrayed her. He had already hurt her.
His hands fell to her shoulders, they were shaking. It did not take much to yank her forward, to pull her in to his chest and wrap his arms around her shoulders. He could feel her shaking against him and he pulled her in tighter.
It did not matter that she was Lady Arya Stark of Winterfell and that all he was, was the bastard son of a dead king. In this moment it was just the two of them. As it had always been. Gendry and Ari.
He dropped his head down against hers and inhaled, she smelled different, cleaner, but she still smelled like her. Wild and free. He had missed her. "I'm sorry, my lady," he told her with a whisper. His lips turning up at the corners as she tensed at the words my lady. She had never liked when he called her that, but he knew that she would appreciate the familiarity of it all. "By your leave, I will never do anything so stupid without your permission again," he added sarcastically.
The next punch that came was weak, gentle. There was laughter in her voice. "Don't call me my lady, you bastard."
-.-.-.-.-
Robb
He had been awake for hours, laying in the bed that was too soft, staring up at the ceiling, wondering when it was all going to come crashing down around him, waiting for that moment when he turned his gaze on Lenora only to find that he was alone - that she had disappeared, that she had never been there to begin with.
But when the sun finally began to rise, slowly lighting up the chamber she was still in bed beside him, her head on his chest, pressed against his side. He had not imagined her, she was still there. She was still his.
He hadn't realized that she had spent most of the night awake as well until he felt her hand fall to his chest, her fingertips lightly tracing one of the scars that had been left behind by a crossbow bolt at the Twins. Even with the light touch he could feel her hand shaking, it took a moment longer before he felt her tears land on his chest, warm and wet.
"Hey," he whispered, wrapping his arms more tightly around her, ducking his head in an attempt to make eye contact with her. "Hey, there's no need for that, I'm here, I'm alive. You don't need to fret."
She nodded, ducking her head so that he couldn't see her tears. They continued to fall as she pressed a kiss against the scar she had just traced with her fingertips. "I couldn't sleep," she whispered against his skin, her voice shaking just as her fingers had. "Last night, I stayed awake all night waiting for you to disappear. Every time you breathed out, I held my breath, waiting for that next breath in, just so that I would know that you were still here. That I hadn't imagined you."
Robb nodded, pressing a kiss against her forehead. "Me too, Nora," he whispered. "I spent so long focused on finding you that I didn't really think about how it would feel when I did. I didn't realize that I would have to spend every other moment convincing myself that you were truly here, that you were still mine."
She pressed her lips against his chest again, "I was always still yours," she whispered to him.
He smiled at that, pleased to hear it. And then he shifted slightly, sitting up a bit in the bed, pulling Lenora up with him so that she was still pressed against his chest. He glanced around the room, so much of it was the same as when he left it, it looked as though almost no time had passed at all. His eyes narrowed, his brow furrowing as his gaze landed on the hearth. There on the stone was a series of tally marks, almost fifty of them drawn in ash. That hadn't been there the last time he was here. He wondered who had stayed in his chamber since he and Lenora had left Winterfell.
"Do you realize," he mused quietly, his arm rubbing Lenora's back, following the points of her spine, "that you never spent a night in here before last night."
He felt her stiffen in his arms, his hand stopped trailing up and down her spine as he turned to look at her, wondering what had made her tense. She had turned her head, staring toward the hearth, "I stayed in here," she told him, her voice hard and cold. "When Roose Bolton brought me here, this was the room he and his bastard saw fit to give me."
Robb felt his jaw clench, he didn't like it, picturing Lenora forced to stay in her dead husband's bedchamber. "I heard they forced you to marry him," he told her, his throat tightening as he said the words. He didn't want to think about it. There were certain duties that a wife was expected to perform and he didn't want to think about Lenora performing them, even if he was already resolved not to blame her for it. He turned, pressing a kiss to her temple, "I am so sorry, Nora," he told her, his voice rough with emotion. "I should have been here. I should have protected you from them."
Lenora shook her head. "There was nothing to protect me from," she told him, her voice hard. "There was nothing Ramsay Bolton could do to me to hurt me." She turned back toward him and smiled, her smile didn't reach her eyes, they were hard, glinting like steel. "I'm made of stronger stuff than that, Robb Stark," she told him.
His chest tightened at that as he began to stroke up and down her back again. There was something about that statement that hurt. It was one that she would have said before, with that same teasing tone and smile. But, before the Twins she would have meant it, and after - it felt as if she was forcing it out, trying to be the woman he had lost.
Something was different.
His hand stilled on her back. He hadn't realized it at first. He hadn't realized it the night before when they made love, had not noticed it during the hours in between when he had been so worried about her disappearing, had not realized it until now. Her back wasn't as smooth as he remembered it. As he ran his fingers up and down her spine he had been so focused on the points of her bones that he had not paid any attention to the raised lines that crossed her spine in every direction.
He noticed them now. He frowned as he traced one of the raised lines, diagonal across her spine from her right shoulder to her left hip, only now realizing that it was a scar. She tensed underneath his fingertips, barely daring to breathe, as if she hoped that by staying still she might fool him into forgetting what he was feeling.
But he would not forget, he could not forget. He traced the line again, stopping a quarter of the way through to trace a new line, this one ran straight down her back, parallel with her spine. "Gods," he whispered, his voice rough with horror. "What did he do to you, Lenora?"
She shook her head, quickly pushing herself away from his chest and sitting up, dragging the sheet with her to cover her chest. It did not matter, her back was turned to him and in the early dawn light he could see every line, every scar that now permanently marred her once smooth skin, shining bright and white in the dim room.
He shook his head. She had been so worried about four scars on his chest when her back was completely covered in them. He had heard that Ramsay Bolton was a monster, but now he was staring at living proof of it. His stomach clenched when he realized that his wife had been trying her best to hide what had happened to her.
He was angry, but he took a deep breath in, worried she would think that he was angry at her. He could never be angry at her. He was angry at the man who had hurt her, who had scarred her, the man who was now dead, no doubt too cleanly for his own taste.
She turned to look at him over her shoulder, his face must have scared her because she shifted back, away from him, watching him carefully. "That's the worst of it," she told him softly. "All he could do to me. He couldn't get it up without causing me pain and so every night after I was forced to marry him he entered this chamber and beat me, and every night I laughed at him. For almost fifty nights he tried, he never succeeded."
He knew what she was trying to tell him, that despite being forced to marry Ramsay Bolton, he was the only man she had ever lain with. It was good to hear, that she had been humiliated and hurt but not raped by the monster. But it did very little to ease his anger. The bastard had still touched her, still hurt her. She would carry the marks of his torture for the rest of her life, a constant reminder to both of them that he had been unable to protect her.
"It certainly looks like he succeeded to me," he growled, his gaze still tracing over the scars on her back. "What else did he do to you, Lenora?"
She shook her head, turning on the bed so that she was sitting, wrapped in the bed sheet, facing him so that he could not see the scars anymore. "Nothing," she told him, not quite meeting his gaze.
She was lying. "Nora," he growled out, a single word, but enough to let her know that he expected the truth from her. "What did the bastard do to you?"
She sighed, "What does it matter?" she asked him, her voice soft as she tried a different tactic. "It's in the past. He's gone. You're here. We are here. Together." She reached out for his hand. "That is all that I care about."
Robb shook his head, pulling hand away from hers as he stood up from the bed. He moved a bit too quickly, his pulled his hand away from her with too much force. She had been leaning into him and when he moved he pushed her away. She fell to the ground. "It matters because I wasn't there to protect you!" he yelled at her, barely noticing when she winced at the sound of his voice. "You were in my home. Forced to marry a monster who beat you and tortured you! And where was I? Dead in a fucking river! Betrayed by my own fucking men! Ones that you had told me not to trust! And then when I was brought back, I followed the brotherhood south, like a fucking sheep! I never questioned them! I left you here, for much longer than I should have because I was too fucking weak to follow my own mind."
There were tears in her eyes when he turned back to her. He moved toward her, hand extended in an attempt to pull her from the ground, but she shied away from him, pushing herself up on her own. She stared at him for a moment, the tears still swimming in her eyes before she shook her head. "I was never some weak little girl that needed your protection, Lord Stark," she told him, her tone hard and cold as she squared her shoulders and stared him down. "I thought that I had proved that to you. What happened to me, whatever happened to me - it did not happen because you were weak or a sheep or dead in a fucking river. It happened because Roose Bolton and Walder Frey betrayed you. It happened because my grandfather wanted to see you dead more than he wanted to see me safe. It happened because Ramsay Bolton was a fucking monster." She turned, baring her back to him down to her hips. "These scars have very little to do with you, Robb," she told him coldly. "They are mine and I say they do not matter."
She turned back to him, leveling him with a sharp glare for another long moment before she sighed and shook her head. She brushed past him on the way to the chamber door. Robb sighed, this was not how he had intended to spend their morning, "Nora," he said softly, reaching out for her as she moved past him.
She sidestepped him, stopping only when she reached the chamber door. When she turned her face softened, she was no longer angry, perhaps she never had been. Now she looked weary, weary and hurt. "It's alright, Robb," she promised him, forcing a smile onto her lips. "I am not cross with you. I should go see my uncle though, and you? You have your sisters and Jon. They've been waiting for you as long as I have. Go see them."
...
Jon looked hesitant when he saw Robb enter the Great Hall, looking for him. His brother stood from his seat at the empty table, staring at him for a long moment. Robb stared back, uncertain of what he should say to his brother after all this time. He knew that he should thank him for watching over Lenora, for watching over the girls, for taking Winterfell back from the Boltons, but all those words stuck in his throat when he looked at Jon's face.
Had everyone changed while he was gone?
He watched as Jon shook his head, and started walking down the hall toward him, his pace quickening as he approached. Robb did not know what to expect, but he had not expected Jon to throw his arms around Robb's shoulders, pulling him in tight. "It's good to see you, Stark," Jon told him as he thumped him on the back. He patted him again, "It's good to see you."
Robb nodded, holding on tight, "It's good to see you too, Snow," he told his brother as he pulled away, his hands still resting on Jon's shoulders, "Though I suppose I should call you Stark now as well," he mused, "that's what the castle folk are calling you."
Jon glanced down, as if ashamed, or worried that Robb would be angry, "Lenora insisted," he told him, his voice quiet. "Your wife can be quite stubborn."
Robb nodded, a fact that he was well aware of. "Calm yourself, Jon," he told his brother, his lips turning up at the corners, "I named you my heir. I named you Stark for this very reason. Do not apologize for it now." There was much they would need to discuss, what they were now that they were both still alive, what would happen with Winterfell and the North. All of it. But it could wait for today.
Jon watched him for a moment before he nodded, "Then let me apologize for everything else," he told him. "For Father, for your mother." He paused. "For what they did to you."
Robb swallowed, his throat tight, and he nodded as he pulled fully away from his brother. "What happened to her, Jon?" he asked, his voice dropping to a whisper. It had been long since he had given a damn about what had happened to him, but he did care about what had happened to her. "What happened to Nora?"
Jon glanced down. He had to have known that the question was coming, but Robb could tell that he was not prepared to answer it. After a moment Jon shook his head and returned his gaze to Robb's face. "She seems to be taking it well," he told Robb. "Your returning. I think she's been half expecting it ever since Grey Wind returned to her. If Grey Wind had survived the wedding, I think she wanted to believe that you could too."
Robb nodded, he would let the subject change for now. "I hear she had a bit of practice with you," he told Jon. "They all did." His gaze traced the scar across his brother's face. "Your own men did this?" he asked. "You're all anyone talks about in the keep now."
Jon was quiet for a moment before he nodded. "It wasn't much unlike what happened to you, I suppose. Both of our men thought that we were leading them astray. They killed us. And then some Red bastard brought us back, even though they shouldn't have."
Robb glanced at Jon sharply. His brother had changed. Jon Snow had always been quiet and brooding, the consequence of growing up a bastard under Catelyn Stark's cold care. But there was a heaviness in his voice now that Robb had never heard. He was haunted. "How long were you gone?" he asked quietly.
"Three days," Jon replied. "And you?"
"Almost a full week."
"What did you see?" Jon asked, taking a step closer, the answer really mattered to him.
Robb shook his head, "Nothing," he told Jon. "It was cold. It was dark. It was empty. There was nothing there."
Jon nodded. "Same."
Robb took a deep breath in, hesitating for a moment. He had tried to hide this from Lenora, though he was certain she felt it. But Jon, Jon might understand it. He might have answers. "When I came back, I could not remember who I was," he told his brother. "It took some time. I think I remembered her, but perhaps I just wanted to remember her." He shook his head, "Something has changed," he told Jon in a whisper. "I lost something. I don't know if I will get it back."
Jon nodded. "We've all changed," he told Robb quietly. "You, me, Sansa, Arya," he shook his head, chuckling slightly, "Jaime fucking Lannister. We've all changed. You didn't have to die and be brought back to change. This war has changed all of us in one way or another. Some just more than others."
"And Nora?" Robb prompted, pulling his brother back to Lenora. "What happened to her?"
Jon's gaze dropped. "It's best to leave it in the past," he told his brother softly. "She wouldn't want you worrying about her." He glanced up, he must have read Robb's stubbornness on his face because he sighed. "You need not burden yourself with it," he assured him. "He's gone. He can't hurt her anymore. She saw to that."
"She did?" Robb asked, surprised at that. He had expected to hear that it was Jon himself that had been Ramsay Bolton's end. Jaime Lannister even. He had never expected to hear that Lenora had done it herself.
Jon glanced up at him, the ghost of a smirk on his lips. "She took him and Grey Wind out for a hunt in the Wolf's Wood," he told Robb quietly. "Soon after only she and Grey Wind returned."
Robb nodded. "I've seen the scars on her back," he told Jon. "She said that once they were married that he beat her. That it was the only way he could get it up." He shook his head. "Did he ever do more than that?" he asked. Lenora had told him no, but she would have lied to save him the pain. Jon wouldn't. He couldn't.
Jon shook his head, "Not physically," he promised. "But emotionally?"
"Emotionally?" Robb echoed, he had not even realized that he needed to worry about that.
Jon nodded, "He did everything he could to make her feel as helpless and alone as possible," he told Robb, still unable to look him in the eye as he spoke. "He shut her in your chamber, surrounded by your things. The only interactions she was allowed were with him, Theon Greyjoy, and a deranged servant girl who made no secret of wanting to kill her. He killed Bran in front of her -" his voice cracked at that. He paused and shook his head, "And after she managed to run away to Castle Black he still taunted her."
"How?" Robb asked, wincing. He could not imagine that it would be any worse than what he had already heard. He was surprised to hear that the monster had killed Bran in front of her, he thought that Theon had killed Bran. But that was the least of his worries at the moment.
Jon glanced up at him and shook his head, "It isn't pretty," he warned.
"Neither were the scars on her back," Robb answered as he waited. "Please Jon," he added after a long moment, his voice low and soft, "I need to hear it all."
Jon watched him for another long moment before he sighed. His eyes closed as if he were trying desperately to remember something. "I want my bride back. Send her to me, bastard," he started, it took Robb a moment to realize that Jon was quoting the Bolton bastard. "Keep her from me and I will ride north and slaughter ever Wildling man, woman, and babe living under your protection. You will watch as I skin them living, you will watch as my soldiers take turns raping your good sister. Not even her one-handed uncle will be able to save her. You will watch as I peel her skin from her body one piece at a time. You will watch as she suffers." He shook his head, finally opening his eyes. "He sent that to us before the battle."
Robb nodded, swallowing down the bile that rose in his throat at the thought of a man who could write something like that touching Lenora. "And during the battle?" he asked.
Jon shook his head, "He killed Greyjoy right in front of her," he told him. "I thought the squid was shit, but he had helped her escape. She still cared for him. And when we took Winterfell we found Rickon, eaten alive by Bolton's dogs in the kennel. Even after he was dead he was still able to get to her." He shook his head again, glancing up at Robb, "I'd be more worried about the emotional damage than the scars," he warned. "It runs deeper."
Robb nodded, agreeing. "She's changed," he confided. "She's harder than I remember. Colder."
Jon nodded, "Noticed that too, have you?" he asked. "I thought she was fine after the battle. But then one day, without warning, she killed Littlefinger, just like that, in the courtyard, she did not even blink. Thank the Gods for Sansa, I had no idea what to do." He shook his head, "She's been better since then, I had hoped that with you back, she'd improve even more."
Robb shook his head, "I should have been there to protect her," he told Jon quietly. "None of this should have happened, she should have been safe."
Jon rolled his eyes, "And we never should have left Winterfell. And Father never should have gone South. And Jaime Lannister never should have pushed our brother from that tower. And Cersei Lannister never should have fucked her brother. And the Mad King never should have killed our grandfather." He shook his head, "You can play at that game forever Robb, none of this was your fault. She'd tell you that."
"She already has," Robb admitted.
Jon nodded, "Just give the two of you time," he advised Robb. "You need to relearn each other. It will take some time."
Robb nodded, "Thank you," he told Jon, his hand falling onto his brother's shoulder again. "For watching over her when I could not. Thank you."
Jon shook his head, a smile resting on his lips, "She didn't need me," he told Robb as he stepped out from under Robb's hand and turned to leave the hall. "I daresay she doesn't even need you."
He spoke the truth, but it did not matter. Lenora might not have needed him, but Robb needed her. Robb watched as Jon walked away from him, "Stark," he called out as his brother reached the doors. Jon froze for a moment, his shoulders tense before he turned to face Robb again. "You look good," he told him.
Jon shrugged his shoulder, a smirk playing unevenly at his lips, "Black always was my color."
At least that had not changed.
-.-.-.-.-
Arya
He snuck out to the Godswood after meeting Jon in the Great Hall. It was stupid of him, truly, to think that he could sneak anywhere in the keep. To think for even a moment that the entirety of Winterfell was not talking, was not whispering, about their Lord, returned from the dead.
Sansa and Ser Jaime had kept her from barging into his chamber the night before. And thankfully she had had Gendry to keep her occupied, the stupid boy, but there was no stopping her now.
She knew that he might want to be left alone, but she wanted to see her brother again.
And so she followed him. Silent as a shadow, quick as a cat across the courtyard.
And she wasn't the only one. Sansa followed too.
Though not as quietly. He heard Sansa once they were all in the Godswood. He was kneeling in front of the Heart Tree, his eyes closed, but he heard her. There was laughter in his voice, a warmth that made Arya want to cry when she heard him call out, "You don't need to hide, I know you're here. I could hear your little feet following me from the hall."
Sansa stepped out from behind her tree and took a few timid steps toward him before she stopped, watching him as if she were afraid of how he would react to her.
He turned, his eyes falling on her and Arya saw a sadness in them. He knew she was afraid of him. He sighed and his gaze lifted from Sansa, landing on the tree that Arya hid behind. "You too, little one," he called out to her. "You never were as sneaky as you thought you were."
Arya giggled as she stepped out from behind the tree. She didn't care what had happened to him during the war, or how long he had been dead. He was still her brother, that much she knew. She could feel it.
Where Sansa had been timid, Arya was brave. Where Sansa was careful, Arya was careless. While Sansa froze like a deer, Arya charged forward like a horse. She pushed away from the tree, still giggling as she rushed toward Robb, throwing herself into his outstretched arms. "I never thought I'd see you again," she whispered in a rush, tears prickling in her eyes as he wrapped his arms around her.
Her relationship with Robb had always been different than her relationship with Jon. They were both her older brothers and she knew that they both loved her. But Jon had always been fun, her companion, while Robb had always been raised to be the future Lord of Winterfell. He had held an authority even when they were younger. When she was younger it was Jon who had always dried her tears.
But at this moment, her joy at seeing Robb was equal to the joy she had felt when she had first seen Jon again. It did not matter how much time had passed. It did not matter that her brother had once been named King in the North, that he might, in fact still be King in the North. He was here and he was safe and he was the very last of her family who would return home. And she would cling to him and cry into his cloak for as long as she fancied.
He chuckled and his entire body shook around her own. "What is this?" he teased, gently pushing her away so that he could cup her face in his large hands. "Arya crying? I never thought I would see the day."
"And I never thought I would see the day you were returned from the dead!" Arya countered, not quite able to make a joke of it. "Were you truly dead? Like Jon? I was there! The night at the Twins! The Hound had brought me. And when he saw what was happening, when he saw them parading a body around with wolf's head sewn to it he took me away! But even then I knew it wasn't right. The head was too small. It couldn't have been Grey Wind's! I knew it. How did you get away?"
She heard a sharp intake of breath behind her and she knew that Sansa wanted to scold her. She had gone too far. Her sister wouldn't want her to be rude or crass. But she needed to know. And more than that, she wanted to know.
Robb chuckled as he gently unwound his arms from around her and stepped away, his gaze returned to Sansa. "Will you come any closer, Lady Sansa?" he asked, his tone almost teasing. "Or will you greet me from there?"
That was all the invitation Sansa needed. With a sob, just as she had done with Jon, Sansa moved forward and threw her arms around Robb. Robb was more gentle with Sansa, cradling her against him as if she might break. He bowed his head, pressing his forehead against hers and whispered to her.
There was once a time when Arya would have been jealous of that. She had always been jealous of how much Sansa and Robb had looked alike. But now, all she felt was joy, joy that her family was back together, as much of it as possible.
"I'm so sorry," she heard Robb whisper quietly to Sansa, their foreheads still pressed together. "Sansa, I am so sorry. We were so worried about you in King's Landing. I am so sorry."
Sansa nodded, tears spilling down her cheeks. "It was awful," she whispered to Robb, unable or unwilling to hide the truth from him. "And it got worse each time you won a victory. But I was so proud of you, so certain that you were going to win the war. You needn't have worried about me. And you needn't apologize. I made it out. We all did."
"I should have tried to get you out of there," Robb whispered to her, pulling his head away so that his gaze could fall on Arya. "I should have found you," he told her. "Mother wanted it. Lenora suggested it. But I was too stubborn, too angry after we lost Father." He shook his head, "I had the bloody Kingslayer and I wouldn't even imagine trading him for you. I am so sorry."
Sansa shook her head, "Don't call him that," she ordered Robb. "Ser Jaime wouldn't have left your camp if you had tried to trade him, not without Lenora. And if you had traded him, I don't know if we would have Winterfell back. He has been so helpful."
If Robb was surprised with this information, he did not show it.
Arya nodded, "And he has been helping me practice my sword play," she told him, hoping that he would ask her to demonstrate it. She had brought Needle with her to the Godswood just in case.
Robb chuckled, "I suppose we shall have to keep him then," he indulged her, "if only for the sake of your sword play."
Arya nodded, her gaze landing on Sansa for a moment, "Was it awful?" she asked a moment later, bringing her gaze back to Robb. "When they killed you? I've asked Jon, but he won't tell me anything. And Lenora never talks about the night at the Twins. Was it awful?"
"Arya!" Sansa scolded, this time not holding back on her reproach.
Arya turned to Sansa and forced a grin onto her lips. "You've wanted to know too," she argued. "And you can't tell me you don't."
"But I would never ask!" Sansa scolded.
Robb was laughing, though it did not reach his blue eyes. "It is good to know that war cannot change all things," he whispered to himself as he shook his head. He glanced down at Arya and sighed, "I'll tell you one day, little wolf," he told her, a promise that she knew that he would keep. "But today is not the day for it."
"Then what is today the day for?" Arya asked.
Robb forced a smile onto his lips, "For you to demonstrate your new skill," he told her as he nodded toward Needle. "Go on, show me what Ser Jaime has taught you."
-.-.-.-.-
Lenora
She found him in the smith shop, she would have said that he was helping the smith make a sword, but the young man was too particular. Every time the smith beat the steel with his hammer the dark haired boy would shake his head, stubborn. She half expected him to push the smith out of the way and do it himself.
Perhaps he would have, if he hadn't heard the smith's apprentice greet her when she walked into the shop. He glanced up, his light grey eyes widening when his gaze landed on her and he quickly stepped away from his work. He was self-conscious, she could see it in the way his gaze kept drifting away from her only to land on her again a moment later.
He reached up, wiping the sweat off his brow with the back of his hand and then began to bend, a clumsy imitation of a bow.
He looked so much like their father that she froze. She had heard so many stories about her father during his prime, during the days of his rebellion, and in all of them they described her father exactly like the man who stood before her. Tall and muscled, strong, dark hair and grey eyes.
She shook her head and stepped forward, "I would know you anywhere," she whispered, stopping when she was a step or two in front of him. "You're one of his." The boy's gaze dropped as he stood up, ashamed. She shook her head, that wasn't the reaction that she had wanted. "You look just like him," she told him. "Just like our father."
His gaze lifted to her face, his lips tugging up in the corners, he wanted to smile, but he was afraid. "I apologize, Your Grace," he told her, stuttering, "I know that you did not expect me and most likely do not want to see me. I came with your uncle and did not think it through until now. I will stay out of your way."
Lenora shook her head, her lips tugging up at the corners. "What's your name?" she asked as she walked closer to him, moving around him so that she could study the sword he and the smith had been working on. "This is beautiful," she murmured, her gaze dancing over the sword.
"Gendry," he told her softly. "My name is Gendry."
She nodded, "Hello, Gendry," she told him softly, holding out her hand to him. "My name is Lenora."
He nodded, "I know," he told her.
She smiled. "Who's the sword for?" she asked him, nodding toward the weapon.
"Ari," he told her before he shook his head. "Arya, I mean." He shook his head again, "Lady Arya."
Lenora laughed, "You're allowed to call her Arya, Gendry," she told him. "She's told me so much about you, though she never mentioned that you might be my brother. I know for a fact that she would not like it, to hear you call her Lady Arya." She turned, still gazing at the sword, "She'll love it," she promised him. "She's long outgrown Needle."
He was quiet. She glanced up at him, an eyebrow arched. He was watching her, his eyes wide. She laughed, watching the surprise in his eyes, "I won't bite you," she told him gently. "You can stop looking at me the way people look at my mother."
His gaze dropped, "I'm sorry, Your Grace, I -"
"Lenora," she cut in, interrupting him. "My name is Lenora."
His eyes lifted, "Lenora?" he said, his voice lifting at the end, more of a question than a statement.
She nodded, smiling at him, hoping to be encouraging. She had not expected him, and to be honest, she would not have wished to see him. But he was there now, and she had heard so much about the boy from Arya that she felt as if she knew him. She wouldn't turn him away now. She glanced at the sword, "You've done well," she told him and the smith. "This sword is beautiful. Truly." She glanced at Gendry, "Come," she ordered him gently, "I was going to go for a ride in the Wolf's Wood. Come with me, you can tell me about yourself."
He looked surprised, but he did not argue with her. He nodded and quickly followed her to the stables. They saddled their horses silently, they watched each other. Every time Lenora glanced up, surprised at how much he looked like her father, she found that he was watching her too. She waited until they were riding before she turned to him, "Tell me about yourself, Gendry," she ordered him.
The young man shrugged, "There isn't much to tell, Your Grace -"
"Lenora," she interrupted with a sigh. "If we are to be family, you should call me Lenora."
He glanced at her sharply, "You wish to be family?" he asked.
She watched him for a moment before she lifted her right shoulder, a half shrug. "I have lost my father. One of my brothers. Two of my uncles. We received a raven not long ago that announced that my sister had died in Dorne. I started this journey with a family, a mother and father, four uncles, three younger siblings. Now I have a mother who is fighting against me, two uncles, and one brother left." She looked away from him for a long moment before she turned back. "Father would have wanted this," she told Gendry softly. "You didn't know him, but I did. He would have wanted us to know each other."
"Especially since your other siblings are bastards?" the boy quipped. His eyes widened as he turned to watch her. "I am sorry, Your ... Lenora," he finished, cutting himself off with a sharp look from her and calling her by her name.
She fought against it, but a smile spread across her lips, quickly turning into a laugh, one so loud that she startled his horse. "That's rich," she told him, "coming from a bastard." She was quiet for a moment, still laughing to herself before she turned to him. "He would have made that jest too," she told him. She watched him. "There's so much of him in you, I can tell even now."
Gendry glanced down, uncertain for a moment before he looked up at her, "Could you tell me about him?" he asked quietly. "The only things I've heard about him were what the common people in King's Landing said. And then what your uncle Tyrion told me on our ride north. Neither of those were particularly reliable sources."
Lenora laughed again and nodded, "None of them would do him much justice," she assured him as they continued to ride. "The common people never knew him. And Tyrion never particularly liked him." She was quiet for a moment, "His laugh," she told him, turning her head to watch the man beside her. "He had the warmest laugh I have ever heard, it is what I remember most about him now. What I miss the most. His laugh.
"His hands were so large. When I was a child I used to sit beside him and use both of my hands to lift his own to cup my cheek. It was so large that it spanned an entire half of my face. I couldn't imagine why he would need a weapon on the battlefield when his hands were so large that I was convinced they could crush a man's skull with almost no effort.
"He wasn't what he was in his prime. But he was still strong. Still brave. Still larger than life." She shook her head, "He didn't deserve the end they gave him."
"Who?" Gendry asked her softly. "The end who gave him?"
"My mother, I suspect," Lenora told him honestly. She glanced up to see the surprise on his face, he had not expected that. She sighed, "You have missed much, Brother," she told him, enjoying the way the word brother felt on her lips. It had been so long since she had spoken to anyone who was connected to her father. "I hope you learn quickly."
Gendry shrugged his shoulders, "I learned how to use a war hammer quick enough," he told her, defending himself.
Lenora's chest tightened as she watched him. "That was his weapon of choice as well," she told him softly. "I think he always worried that I was more Lannister than Baratheon, despite my looks and coloring. I took to a sword the way Jaime did. I was a natural and Father was proud, but I always wondered if he would have preferred me to pick up a hammer."
Gendry's gaze swept over her for a moment before he shook his head, "You wouldn't be much use with one," he told her, his lips turning up at the corners. "Your arms are too small."
And it was that jest, that simple tease that told Lenora everything she needed to know about Gendry. He meant to stay, to be a part of her family, no matter how new and uncomfortable it would be for him.
She had lost her father almost two years before, but now she had found a bit of him in this lost boy, this bastard who looked so much like her father, who so desperately wanted to be part of her family that he had traveled the length of the country to find her.
And she was grateful.
...
"Ah!" Tyrion cheered, setting down his goblet of wine when Lenora entered the chamber. "Finally! You have escaped your bastard brother! Finally thought it was time to come see your little monster of an uncle, did you? The boy was not the only one who traveled from King's Landing to find you after all."
Lenora felt her lips turn up at the corners as she walked further into the room. Her uncle, always with a jest on the tip of his tongue was quicker than she was. She could not joke, not now, not with him. She crossed the room quickly, barely noticing that Jaime was sitting across the table from Tyrion.
She dropped down to her knees in front of his chair and reached out for her uncle's hand, cupping it between both of her own. "How are you, Uncle?" she asked him, squeezing his hand gently. "I cannot imagine that King's Landing was a friendly place for you as of late."
Tyrion smiled at her, his lips lifting up into a bitter smile. "No," he agreed with her. "It was not. Though I place most of that blame at your mother's feet. And anywhere near her, was never particularly friendly. King's Landing was nothing new."
He pulled his hand out of her grasp and lifted both of his hands to her face, tilting it up so that he could study her. His face was serious now, all the laughter had disappeared from his eyes as he tilted her face first in one direction, then the next, watching her carefully. "How are you, Len?" he asked her softly. He shook his head, "I can only imagine - "
She shook her head, silently cutting him off, "You can't, Uncle Tyrion," she told him honestly. "You can't imagine. And I wouldn't want you to." She shook her head again and sniffed, her vision was blurry as tears stung her eyes. "It does not much matter how I have been," she told him, forcing her voice to sound light and playful, hoping that he would not argue with her as much as Robb had done that morning. "What matters is how I am now."
"And how are you now, Doe?" Tyrion asked, one of his hands lifting to wipe away a tear from her cheek. "How are you this very moment?"
She smiled through her tears. "For the first time in nearly two years I am at peace," she told him softly. "My husband is alive. My two favorite uncles are here with me. Winterfell is safe." She shook her head, her smile widening. "I feel like tonight, when I lay down to sleep, for the first time in years my dreams will not be plagued by worry. How am I now, this very moment, you ask? I am well."
Tyrion smiled and leaned forward, pressing a kiss against her forehead. "That is good to hear, Len," he told her. "And much more than I could have hoped for. You always were a Lannister in that regard. Forged, and strong, and unbreakable."
"I could say the same for you, Uncle," Lenora told him, smiling up at him. She leaned back on her heels, her gaze landing on Jaime as well. "Both of you," she told them. Her gaze moved to Tyrion again. "Who would have thought that the Lannister dwarf would have made it through this war so easily."
She was making light of what her uncle had been through, she knew, but she also knew that he uncle wouldn't mind. He had always been one to jest instead of wallow. He chuckled now and nodded, "It is not a wager I would have made," he admitted to her. "But the odds were in my favor this time."
It was quiet for a moment, Lenora glanced between her two uncles, "How is it in King's Landing?" she asked. How is Mother? she meant.
Tyrion's lips tugged down at the corners as he glanced between Jaime and Lenora. Whatever he had to say, it was not good news. He sighed, his gaze shifting to the decanter of wine on the table between him and Jaime. "I am too sober for this conversation," he told Lenora apologetically as he leaned across the table to grab the decanter. He did not bother with a goblet. Instead he drank straight from the decanter.
Lenora's brows furrowed as she glanced at Jaime. He and Tyrion had spent the entire night together. She wondered if Tyrion had already told Jaime the news from King's Landing. Jaime smiled ruefully and lifted his right shoulder up in a defeated shrug. "It is not a happy tale, Len," he told her, warning her.
Lenora's lips turned up at the right corner, a bitter smirk, "Neither is mine, Uncle Jaime," she told him, a fact he was well aware of. "I have lived through a life time of pain, there is very little you need to shield me from now."
Jaime did not look happy with her statement, but he did not argue with her either. He sighed and glanced toward Tyrion, his brows furrowed, "Tell her," he told Tyrion. "There will be no rest for either of us until she knows it all."
...
Tyrion did not hold back when he began to share. He would tell her everything. But because he was her uncle and he did not wish to cause her any pain, he made a choice. For everything he told her that would cause her pain he tried to tell her something that would make her feel better.
Joffrey had been murdered, poisoned at his wedding. But his death had provided the distraction needed to help Sansa escape the capitol.
Cersei had taken advantage of her son's death to try to frame Tyrion, something she had almost succeeded at. But it was this betrayal that had helped Jaime cut ties with his sister and realize that she was truly lost.
Tyrion had killed her grandfather, a fact that he would not hide from her, even though Jaime had tried to tell him not to tell her. But Tyrion had explained to her that he could not leave King's Landing with his father alive. Lenora had cried then, so far gone that she did not know if she was crying for the loss of her grandfather, or for the fact that her grandfather had hated his son so much that Tyrion had no other choice.
Perhaps both.
After that Tyrion switched gears, telling her of his travels North with first Gendry and then with her brother and her husband. There were parts that made her sad, when he spoke of the hardness, the coldness that she herself had recognized in Robb since he had returned. And there were parts that made her laugh out loud, when he told her of all of Gendry's questions about her and about her life with Robb.
"There was a moment," Tyrion told her, chuckling as he drank some wine from the decanter, "when I first saw the Stark boy and realized he had been brought back from the dead when I worried that he might not remember you. But Gendry gave him no choice. He had no escape from you, the entire ride North, the boy would not allow it. You haunted us with every mile, his memory of your growing stronger the more questions he answered."
Lenora smiled, "There are worse ghosts to be haunted by," she murmured, unbidden her mind going to Ramsay Bolton.
Jaime's hand fell on her shoulder, giving it a tight, comforting squeeze, "But they are just ghosts, Len," he told her, pulling her back to the present where she was warm and safe and surrounded by loved ones. The present, where Ramsay could not hurt her. "They have no hold on you now."
Lenora shook her head, he was wrong, though she loved him for wanting to believe it. "Does Mother not have a hold on you, Jaime? The Mad King? To some extent, Bran?" she asked him softly. She turned to Tyrion, "And Grandfather? Do you not see him, waiting for you around every corner, Uncle Tyrion?"
They did not need to answer her, she knew that she was correct. She shook her head again. "My ghosts will always have a hold on me," she told Jaime. "Just as yours do. They cannot hurt me, but they will always be there, he will always be here, waiting."
Tyrion reached out for her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. "I liked you so much better when you were younger," he told her, smiling crookedly. There was a wicked gleam in his eyes that told her he was joking. "You were so much stupider then."
She laughed, turning her head to the side so that she could press a kiss against the back of her uncle's hand. "And I liked you so much better when I was younger too, Uncle," she told him, lifting her head so that she could wink at him. "You were so much taller."
Author's Note:
Hello! Is anybody out there? (I hope that you read that in a British accent, a la the White Star officer in Titanic before he found Rose... Anybody? No? Just me?)
All joking aside though, I hope that I did not lose too many of you during my unintentional sabbatical. And further more, I am sorry for seemingly dropping off the face of the planet.
This chapter was a difficult one for some reason ... too much happiness maybe. It was difficult to write. I think I typed it out, deleted it, and started over again at least ten times.
I'm still not completely happy with this edit, but I think it is the closest I am going to get to what I wanted.
I hope that those of you that are still here enjoyed it!
If you did, drop on down to that beautiful box at the bottom of this page and let me know!
Thank you so much to everyone who stuck around waiting for this edit, I am sorry it took so long and hope not to leave you for that long EVER again.
Thank you for adding this story to all of your favorites and alerts lists.
But most of all, thank you for the reviews! I have read every one of them, even when I was rewriting this chapter over and over again. They really do mean so much.
I know that I normally respond to each review, but there are so many and while they mean so much to me, it's almost midnight and I have to wake up at 6am tomorrow and I wanted to make sure that I got this chapter out to you all!
So would everyone please forgive me if I don't respond to the reviews today? I'll be back on with my review game for the next chapter, but for this one ... for tonight, just know that your reviews really did mean so much.
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So much love to each and every one of you.
Until next time (soon!),
Chloe Jane.